


And You Know our Hearts Beat Time

by eudaimon



Category: Sirens (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eudaimon/pseuds/eudaimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things that they have never felt the need to talk about  before.  Ashley sort of liked it when they didn't talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And You Know our Hearts Beat Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pollitt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/gifts).



> I had to rewatch to write this and I had forgotten how much I loved this show and how gutted I was when it didn't get a second series. I had a blast writing this and I hope that translates. Thank you for the request! You described this as your guilty pleasure, so I hope that you aren't disappointed that this is the fandom we matched on <3
> 
> HAPPY YULETIDE!

"Do you ever think about being bullied?"  
"What?"

Ashley's in the process of digging through the debris under the dashboard, looking for a packet of cigarettes that he _knows_ was there yesterday. They are midway through a night shift on a rainy, freezing cold Thursday in December and, huddled in his uniform coat, Ashley's amazed at Stuart's ability to function in a fleece (he wouldn't put it past him to be absolutely _freezing_ and just too bloody-minded to own up to it). It is an average shift. Nothing has really happened. They have been resolutely not talking about stuff for weeks.

And now this. Jesus.

"Do you ever think about being bullied? You know - at school. What was his name? Shithead. Dave?"

Ashley slumps back in his seat with a sigh, giving up on the cigarettes entirely. He can't quite believe that they're back to this again.

"Dan. His name was Dan. And, no, actually - I don't give it very much thought."  
"Liar."  
"What the fuck's bought this on?"  
"Nothing," says Stuart, pausing to finish the last swallow of his Coke. "Just thinking."

Ashley knows Stuart well enough to know that there is no such thing as 'just thinking' where Stuart is concerned. Ashley's known Stuart since he joined the Service, since he was twenty-one and wet behind the ears. In the six or seven years since then, not a lot has changed. Ashley still shags indiscriminately, drinks too much, smokes more than he used to (but swears he doesn't). He likes to know think that he knows Stuart better than anyone (except, maybe, Maxine - although, and this thought has occurred to him, it's possible that they just know _different_ things). Rachid might have acted like they didn't know the important things about each other, but Ashley's always thought that they know _enough_. And a big, big part of that has always been knowing when to leave well enough alone.

Right?

They have, for example, been avoiding the subject of _somebody_ stripping down to his pants and weeping on top of an ambulance until somebody _else_ scrambled up there to physically make him come down.

That somebody had not been bloody _Rachid_.

And, apparently, all of that lovely discretion is about to go clear out of the window.

"I call bullshit," says Ashley, folding his arms across his chest. "You've got something to say, we've got hours left so, please, enlighten me."

This is all Rachid's bloody fault. Ashley hopes that Fat Carl the bloody Trauma Magnet is causing chaos, somewhere out there in the damp night. It's spiteful, sure, but it makes him feel better.

"You've clearly got to think about it," says Stuart, producing a Fry's Peppermint Cream from a pocket and starting to unwrap it. "If you were that miserable. It's got to have had an effect, hasn't it? All of that doesn't just stop because you go magically survive until you're eighteen and go to Uni."  
"Sometimes it does, actually," points out Ashley. "Leeds suited me. It still does, actually"  
"I bet it does. What I'm saying is - some of that misery has got to survive. "  
"Nope. Sorry to disappoint you but…"  
"Liar."  
"What are you after, Stuart? Some heartfelt, tearful, fucking _humiliating_ confession about how tortured and alone I am? Jesus, Stuart, I'm happy, okay? I'm positively fucking content , actually. My life has very little meaning and I'm well...frankly, I'm completely fine with that. All of the fun and none of the responsibilities, remember? Jesus! You're starting to sound like that fucking counselor and, no offense or anything but you're not nearly attractive enough to pull this shit off."

As soon as he's finished he knows that he's said too much.  
Stuart's smug fucking smile pretty much confirms it. _Bastard_.

"I knew it."  
"Fuck it," says Ashley, pushing his door open. "I'm going across to the shop."

He doesn't wait to ask if Stuart wants anything.

*

He wasn't lying when he told his mum that he was good at sleeping but, sometimes, no matter how good you are, you just aren't going to get what you want.

By 8am, Ashley's showered, changed and is lying on the sofa, utterly and completely unable to sleep. He gives up and plays a bit of X-Box, but can't settle on Assassin's Creed or Halo. He tries a DVD but finds Tarantino pretty fucking unsatisfactory. He even tries porn - really hardcore, nasty - handcuffs, ball-gags, huge fucking dildos - stuff but it very quickly becomes clear that he's not going to get it up for anything in 2D.

What he does next is inexplicable: he picks up his phone and finds Stuart in his contacts.

I.C.E. By rights, it ought to be his mum but then he thinks about the kind of trouble he could get into - the myriad little things that could go wrong in a life like his. His mum went through enough when his brother died; religion saved her that time but Ashley isn't about to put her through it again, not if he can help it.

So Stuart it is, then.

"Hello?"  
"Did I wake you?"  
"You did, actually. Dickhead."  
"Ah, shit - sorry, mate. It's not important. Can't settle."  
"What do you want me to do about it, Ash? You know I'm shit at lullabies."  
"Can I..?" 

That question is a fucking traitor, an escapee that, by rights, should have been swallowed down with all the other thrown-into-reverse, aborted thoughts. Ashley can't help it if he's got a type, can't help it if the Alpha male thing gets his dick hard like nothing else. He also can't help it if Stuart took charge so effortlessly, if it's easy to be comforted by that. Usually, it's about feeling good, nothing more than that, but he tries really fucking hard not to examine too deeply what it might be about with Stuart.

(He refuses to even entertain the thought that he might be in love with his best friend. It's a teenage girl's thought. It's too ridiculous for words).

He realises Stuart's been talking.

"What?"  
"Jesus fucking Christ, _Ashley_ I said 'do you want to come over'?"

Yes. Fucking _yes_ he wants to come over; his stomach does this weird little flip just thinking about it. He'd felt something in him start to fracture weeks ago now - he thinks that it happened when he realised that Stuart had actually started to cry. Whatever. He's given up trying to explain any of this to himself. He's pretty sure that that way lies madness.

"Yeah," he says, hoping that he sounds casual enough to pass. "Yes, okay . I'm...I'll be over in a bit, okay?"

Shit.  
Shit, shit, shit.

Okay.

*

When your night-time is everyone else's day-time, everything starts to feel a bit...weird. Ashley trudges over to Stuart's, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. He passes people doing their shopping, mums with babies in pushchairs, kids cutting school. He glimpses two skinny pretty boys snogging in the alley behind the Co-Op and feels a momentary pang. It's not regret (he's done his fair share of snogging, recently, even). It's not desire, either (neither of them is even remotely his type). It's more than he remembers being their age and he wishes it had been that easy for him.

Fucking Stuart bringing Dan up _again_.

On the doorstep, Stuart keeps him waiting for a few long moments. Ashley hunches his shoulders and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, freezing and miserable, until Stuart finally opens the door. In his pants. 

"Yes, I think about it sometimes. Think about Dan sometimes," says Ashley, looking down. "Yes, it fucked me up."  
"Join the club, mate," says Stuart, standing aside to let him in. "We're having t-shirts made."

*

They're completely stocious by 11am. Green glass bottles lined up like soldiers. At some point, Ashley kicked off his runners and he's got his feet up on the coffee table, one of Stuart's legs thrown across his thighs. He's working very hard to ignore the fact that Stuart is sitting there in boxers and a t-shirt. He's doing okay, and then Stuart stretches and Ashley realises that he can see the lien of his cock. Which he stares at for a second before he manages to look away.

So ignoring with limited success then.

"Go on then," says Stuart, opening a new beer - Ashley's lost count of how many that is. "Tell me something that nobody else knows. _Share_."

"Fucking Rachid," says Ashley, letting his head fall back against the sofa. "Okay. Wait."

 _What do you want to know, dickhead? Gave my first blowjob when I was fourteen; didn't swallow until I went to uni. Didn't cry at my brother's funeral. Had sex with a girl once - and I was surprised by how okay it was. Ryan was a major fuck-up; he deserved better than me. Maxine's too good for you. You can be a spectacular arsehole. Given the choice between you and Rachid,_ fucking _you and Rachid, it would always, always be you. Because I love you. And I don't even know why._

Ashley doesn't say any of that, though. He puts the bottle that he's holding down very carefully on the edge of the coffee table and then he turns towards Stuart and leans in. Stuart has a moment to look surprised and then Ashley kisses him. It's not a gentle, soppy, romantic comedy kiss, either - it's a proper fucking kiss. It's wet and firm and slightly off centre. Ashley _means_ that kiss. When he pulls back, Stuart looks stunned.

"Did I just fuck up massively?" Stuart just stares at him. "Stu?" He nudges him with one hand. " _Stuart_?"

"What the _fuck_ was that?" says Stuart, eyes still wide, staring. His lips are suddenly, distractingly damp. "Did you just...why would you…" He takes a deep breath. "Christ. Do it again."

Ashley feels his own eyes widen.

"What?"

"You just _kissed_ me. And you fucking meant it, didn't you, you bastard? You meant it. Which means…" Stuart drags in a breath. "Jesus, Ash. What are you bloody waiting for? Just do it again, would you? Before I change my mind."

Ashley doesn't need to be asked twice. He leans in and kisses Stuart again, kisses him properly, one hand coming up to cradle the side of his face, the other resting against Stuart's bare thigh. He's suddenly, intensely aware of how little Stuart is actually wearing. When he breaks the kiss, he can't help but notice the thickening line of Stuart's cock, obvious through the thin cotton of his pants.

He laughs.

"You're into this, aren't you? Like, properly."  
"Well...yeah," says Stuart, rubbing the back of his neck, actually fucking _blushing_. "You're...hot, I can admit that. And I'm pissed. Absolutely. And horny. Jesus. So, Ashley Greenwick, just for tonight, right in this moment, I am completely into it and I am completely saying yes."

"Yes?"  
"Yes."

Ashley tilts his head, lifts one eyebrow.

"Exactly _how_ into it are you?"

Stuart rolled one shoulder in a shrug.

"Dunno. Try me."

This time, when Ashley leans in to kiss Stuart, his hand slides up Stuart's thigh, cupping his cock. He squeezes gently, is gratified to hear Stuart moan against his mouth. In many, many aspects of his life, Ashley's been pretty happy to coast. He's always been happy to be _good enough_.

He likes to think that he excels at this.

"C'mon," he says, still stroking Stuart through thin fabric. "I don't want to do this on the fucking _settee_. 

Stuart nods.

"Alright. C'mon. Bed."

It's all a bit of a fumble, getting off the settee and out of clothes. Ashley's got a very definite type and Stuart definitely isn't it - not physically, anyway. That's underlined when Stuart strips off his t-shirt and pants at the top of the stairs. The most surprising thing about that is that Ashley finds that he really doesn't give a shit. He yanks his t-shirt over his head, hissing out a breath when his pants scrape along the underside of his hard-on. Once they're both naked, he catches Stuart staring.

"What?"  
"It's okay," says Stuart, holding up both hands. "It's just...one thing to be alright with it in theory and a completely different thing to be suddenly faced with your actual - surprisingly sizeable might I add - cock."  
"Going off the idea?" asks Ashley and, this time, his fingers curl around Stuart's cock, stroking slowly. Stuart shakes his head, eyes slipping closed as he rolls his hips experimentally, pushing into Ashley's hand.

"No," says Stuart. "Nowhere near."

The sheets on Stuart's bed are rumpled but feel, at least, relatively clean. They kiss and Ashley shifts until the can push his body in tight against Stuart's, shifting until their cocks line up, until they graze together every time Ashley shifts his hips.

"I think you should fuck me," he says, between tangled kisses. "I really think you should fuck me."

He feels Stuart hesitate, just for a moment, before he nods.

"Okay," he says.

Ashley ends up on his belly, propped up on his elbows to give him enough leverage to thrust his arse back against Stuart, his cock grazing against the sheet with every, single thrust. Somewhat surprisingly, Stuart seems to know exactly what he's doing with his cock. It's easier not to think about it - not to analyse it too much and just let his body run away with him. When Stuart's hand hits the pillow next to his face, the way he holds himself changes the angle of his cock as he thrusts and it's all that Ashley can do not to fucking _scream_. He sucks one of Stuart's fingers into his mouth instead and is gratified to hear him moaning.

Still got it, then.

"God, this feels filthy," gasps Stuart, still thrusting. "Like, porn-behind-a-paywall filthy."  
"Don't you dare come on me," gasps Ashley, still moving. He really, truly believes that that's stuff for a second date. Or a really, really serious roleplay.

Which means Stuart's laughing, actually _laughing_ when he comes. Which feels pretty much exactly how it ought to be.

Ashley takes a few moments longer, grinding back against the still hard line of Stuart's cock.

"Don't you dare," he gasps. "Don't you dare stop. Jesus."

And, true to form, Stuart's right there, for as long as Ashley needs him to be.

Afterwards, they collapse in a sweaty pile in Stuart's bed. They don't embrace. They don't kiss. They lie side by side, breathing heavily, coming own. Because ups inevitably do bring downs. What Ashley feels, though, is a sort of quiet, more than anything. Things slip into place.

"What did we just do?"  
"Probably best not to over-think it," says Stuart, closing his eyes. Maybe everything will go back to normal tomorrow. Maybe it won't. Ashley finds himself curiously unworried either way. It feels like everything's changed, but maybe nothing really has. Maybe everything just makes a little bit more sense. Their edges have always just fit. He doesn't necessarily need anything to come of it.

He falls asleep with Stuart's elbow gouging into his side.


End file.
